They shuffle into his childhood home, his mother held up between him and his half-brother. Her wrinkled hands clutch at his and Henry's—or, at least, it's her best attempt to hold onto them as hard as she can. He kisses her cheek before letting go so he can lock the door behind them. He pauses for a few seconds, staring at the white picket fence that was as steady a presence in his youth as his parents are. As his father was.
When he looks back, Emma is already seated at the small kitchen table, Henry at her side rubbing up and down her arm. The melancholy of that morning had made everyone look at least ten years older, and his brother is no exception. Their mother, though, has a sort of brightness about her. Deeply pensive and somber to be sure, but there's a light that shines within her that surprises him, especially today of all days, the slight quirking of her lips a welcome contrast to the darkness of her black dress and coat.
"Liam, honey, could you—"
"Hot cocoa with cinnamon," he finishes for her. "Already on it." He prepares her favorite drink (and his favorite too if he's honest) in record time, muscle memory serving him well in completing the task.
He can faintly make out her talking to Henry, something about how nice it was to hear so many of the townspeople speak so highly of her late husband, and how moved she was by Henry's eulogy. "You're a great writer, kid." Liam huffs out a laugh in time with Henry's bashful chuckle. Even after all these years, even when he has kids of his own now, she's never stopped calling him that.
By the time he places the steaming mug in front of her—which is rewarded with a grateful if tired smile—and pulls up a chair to sit next to her, she's already a few sentences in to talking about the things she misses most about her dashing pirate, as she often called him. She mentions his grin, his eyes, the way his eyebrows would seem to have a mind of their own. How he was her partner in everything. How loving and being loved by him made her stronger than any magic ever could.
"But you know what I miss the most?" Both boys lean in, both struggling to keep either eyes dry as they listen to her brittle yet resilient voice.
"What, mom?"
"He was fun." And then, he understands her bittersweet expression from before. His dad made her happy above all else. If there was one thing he could recall with absolute clarity growing up, it was that. And today just reminded her of how happy he had made her all this time. "He promised me that, you know, that we'd have fun." He and Henry both nod, wiping away at the stray tears that have managed to escape. They're heard this story before, but indulge her anyway: the jungles of Neverland; Killian's promise to win her heart, and his words of support which even then were enough to make Emma feel invincible.
"Yeah," Liam chokes out, grasping his mother's wrist, his thumb cascading up and down along her knuckles in a gesture he picked up from his father. "He sure was."
.